


belonging

by ndnickerson



Category: Nancy Drew - Carolyn Keene
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Living Together, Married Couple, Married Life, Married Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Romance, Tumblr: otpprompts, newlyweds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-15
Updated: 2015-07-15
Packaged: 2018-04-09 10:33:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4345184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ndnickerson/pseuds/ndnickerson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The honeymoon isn't over for them, even once they're back home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	belonging

**Author's Note:**

> From a prompt on otpprompts on tumblr: Person A and person B are happily married. The end. Just write some happily married fluff. Do it.

The room is unfamiliar to her, and barely big enough to hold the queen-sized bed; in fact, she's pretty sure it isn't big enough. The floor on her side of the bed is stacked halfway to the ceiling with boxes that still need to be unpacked, and she's forgotten twice and slammed her shins into hard, unforgiving cardboard, then hissed, wincing and stifling curses. It's been more important to set up the kitchen, but Ned has already promised that they'll spend Saturday morning sorting through the rest of the boxes.

When Nancy wakes, she's warm—she forgot to turn on the oscillating fan perched on top of the boxes before she went to sleep—and the room is dark, cast in deep-blue and charcoal shadow, and an arm is slung across her waist.

Ned's arm.

Her husband's arm.

They've only been back from their honeymoon for four days now, and their two-week anniversary is on Saturday. The first time they shared a bed was on their wedding night, or at least that's what her father thinks, but it really did feel that way. Oh, there were other times, late nights in his room at Omega Chi, brainstorming sessions and stakeouts that ended with them waking up together, but there's no walk of shame now, no excuses. They're _together_ now, forever.

She stirs a little, shifting her hips and moving to face him. His other arm is under the pillow and he's facing her, and his presence is unmistakable. His weight is significant; his body is larger than hers, and she can hear his breathing. He sleeps naked; when they shared a bed before their wedding day, those few times, when she was excited and scared by the forbidden act of just being so close to him, his concession to her modesty had been wearing his underwear, but he hasn't slept with clothes on since their wedding.

It feels decadent to sleep naked; she's slept naked almost every night since their wedding. His skin is so warm and they're so often in contact that he's at least radiating heat, and she's never cold around him, at least not for long. Her shoulders fit perfectly into the circle of his arms. Their heights differ just enough for her to nestle against him and feel completely safe. And he likes touching her, even when they aren't in bed. His palm is often lingering at the small of her back when he's escorting her anywhere, or when they're just walking together, his head tipped down and his brown-eyed gaze on her face to make sure he can hear her. She loves going to movie theaters that allow the armrest between them to flip up, so she can just lean against him. She came to trust on and enjoy his proximity to her early in their relationship, in a way she never has with anyone else.

And he is so tender. His fingertips, his long fingers, his palms, his lips, his tongue... she squeezes her eyes shut tight and squirms a little, feeling a pulse that's so intense it's almost an ache, between her thighs. Her knee is bent and she wonders if this is why he sleeps naked, because just the sensation of fabric against bare skin is inflaming her. She needs to stop thinking about it.

She needs to go to the restroom, and she can't get off the bed without disturbing him.

She waits another minute or so, then finds the short cotton nightgown she wore to bed and hastily tugs it back on. She hears a muffled snort from Ned's direction, and then his quiet, even breathing again.

The floors creak, but she's learning them. The bathroom is tiny and tiled and unventilated, with a single pedestal sink and no storage. She has to open the frosted window to vent it during showers, but she still smiles when she sees the Monet sailboat shower curtain. It was a splurge, but she loves it, and it isn't too feminine for Ned. He joked with her when she first began to move in that he didn't want to see the place done in frilly florals, and she has no intention of that.

But his toothbrush is beside hers in the cup on the sink, and they share a tube of toothpaste. Her birth control pills are in the medicine cabinet. Their possessions are together, in the closet, the dresser, the media shelves in the living room.

And though they share so much now, sharing a bed is so incredibly intimate, both frighteningly strange and perfectly right. She has so little privacy now, when she was used to having so much—but it's not that. She was used to being alone, and now they are alone together. He's her partner in every sense of the word, and they're both still learning how to navigate that.

She drags her fingers through her hair before she takes tentative steps on the hardwood, back to the bedroom. Sometimes it's still hard to remember to come here instead of going back to her father's house. She even felt a little homesick. Now she just feels a flutter of anticipation in her stomach. She and Ned don't have a routine yet, and when she says she doesn't care at all what they do for dinner or for entertainment, she's telling the truth. She feels lovesick again, and she just wants to be with him, no matter what.

Her thumb slides against the inner curve of her engagement ring and wedding band as she quietly steps over the threshold, and glances up—to see her husband sitting up at the edge of the bed, his broad shoulders and sculpted chest bare, stubble rasping against the heel of his hand as he rubs it against his jaw. The sheets and comforter are crumpled and he stands, completely naked, wearing only his wedding band.

"You okay?" His voice is rusty from sleep.

She nods, feeling almost shy, but she's caressed and kissed and nuzzled against him, had her hands all over him, and he's her husband. There's nothing wrong with letting her gaze wander down to trace the blue-shadowed lines of him, his muscular thighs, his defined abs, the dark hair trailing beneath. He reaches for her, cupping her waist for an instant and then gently rubbing his hand over her abdomen before he heads for the bathroom.

His touch leaves her skin tingling, and she tugs her nightgown off again before she dives under the covers. The linens still smell like his dorm room, like the detergent his mother used. His pillow smells like his shampoo, and his warmth still lingers in the mattress.

She imagines the weekend with longing. Waking without the panic of their alarms, lingering in each other's arms instead of rushing to pour the first cup of coffee and start the shower and head to work. It won't be the unfettered bliss of their honeymoon, but it might feel like it for a few hours.

That ache hasn't gone away, or maybe it was teased back to life by that stroke against her belly. She sighs, her arms folded over the comforter and just under her breasts, trying to ignore it, tipping her head back. She can't see anything through the tightly closed blinds, and then she belatedly remembers the fan. She's stretching up to reach up, breasts bare and comforter pooled at her waist, when Ned returns to their bedroom.

"Mmm," he murmurs approvingly. "So my girl likes sleeping naked, huh."

"With you," she replies, sliding back under the covers as he joins her. "I woke you up, didn't I. Sorry."

"It was worth it. C'mere."

She drapes her bent knee over him, her breasts against his warm bare chest and her cheek against his shoulder, and that just makes the ache worse. They have to work in the morning, and she's almost punch-drunk with exhaustion, and she just needs to sleep. That's all. Naked and pressed against her husband. He smells familiar, like home, and his arm is slung around her waist, and she wants him. Oh God, she wants him, especially when she shifts and the join of her thighs rubs against his skin and she wants to fuck him _right now_.

He makes a soft noise. "Can't get comfortable, babe?"

She chuckles quietly. "Guess not," she murmurs. "Um..."

She can hear the smile in his voice when he speaks again. "Need some help?"

"Yeah."

She can't help feeling disappointed when he rolls her not on top of him or onto her back, but onto her side, facing away from him, toward the wall of boxes and the fan. The sweep of the breeze over her bare shoulders, then over her breasts as the sheet slips down, makes her shiver.

He keeps one hand looped over her, the other under her, and when he presses tight against her she almost purrs at the feel of his erection against her bottom. So she won't have to think distracting thoughts after all. He cups a breast in one hand, his other hand coming down to rub against the join of her thighs, and she parts her legs to help him.

He nuzzles against her neck and she shivers. "Mmm. Good?"

"Definitely. I just... thought..."

"Mmm?" The warmth of his breath against her earlobe makes her shiver again, and he traces two fingers up the slit between her thighs. "What were you thinking?"

"That I want you inside me," she sighs, and she blushes as she whispers it, even though he smiles or grins anytime she says something like that. He loves when she tells him what she wants, and he loves giving it to her in return.

He kisses her neck, then sucks against it briefly, plucking gently at her nipple. She sighs, reaching down to cup her hand over his as he keeps stroking her between her thighs. She doesn't just want him to finger her, but if that's what he'll give her, she'll take it. Maybe he's too tired for more, and at least that will break the tension building inside her.

"Your wish is my command, beautiful."

She smiles, bringing one knee up and resting the sole of her foot against the mattress, the comforter tenting and drawing down to her waist, and her nipples are hard from the chill and the stroke of his fingers against them. He strokes her inner thighs, then rubs the heel of his hand against the mound of her sex.

"Ready yet, honey?"

"Mmm. I think so."

He's been so patient with her, and she's been an eager student, happy to learn what he likes and how she reacts to him. She thought before him that sex didn't take preparation, just willingness and proximity. It feels so incredible, though, when she's quivering with desire, when the hollow inside her is tender and slick and ready for him.

"Just in case..." He moves away from her, rolling over, and she sighs in frustration, rolling onto her back. She feels a tingling, insistent awareness between her thighs, and she thinks she must be ready, but she hears him pull out the drawer and take out the lube. They used it often on their honeymoon, and once they returned home, a few times they've tried sex without, and she likes it both ways. She just loves being close to him. She loves feeling his hands on her, or even cuddling with him on the couch, ignoring all they still need to unpack, watching a movie with him. His fingers idly trail against her shirt or stroke her hair and she just feels warm and safe and loved.

She loves _him._ She loves him with her whole heart.

Then he rolls over again, his cock and fingers slick with lube, and her legs are open in welcome. Her stomach sinks when he shakes his head, though. "On your side," he murmurs.

"I... we're not?"

"Sex? We can have sex this way. I'll show you."

Her brow furrows, but she rolls onto her side reluctantly anyway. She likes to see his face when they have sex; she likes to put her hands on him. In this position, she's facing away from him, and not even seeing anything interesting, just the damn wall of boxes. "Okay."

He chuckles. "It'll be good. And if it's not, we'll stop and go a different way, okay?"

"Okay."

He stops when he's spooned up behind her, and kisses her shoulder. "I'm sorry. I thought you liked what we were doing."

"I do. I did. I just..." She knows she must sound so inexperienced, so naive, but she _is_. "I like to see your face."

"Mmm. Well, why don't we try it another time, with a mirror propped up over there," he suggests, moving and gently rolling her onto her back. She smiles when she sees him smiling back at her.

"I'm sorry."

He shakes his head. "No, baby, don't be sorry. If that makes you uncomfortable, it's fine, we'll fix it next time. Is this better?"

She nods, sliding her arms around him as he moves over her, her knees bent and his hips resting between her legs. "I love this."

"I know you do." He leans down and kisses her, sweet and slow and open-mouthed, and she melts under him. Her heart still flutters when they're like this, when he's pinning her under him and he's completely in control. This is the only time she ever feels mastered by him, like they aren't equal. In everything else, she feels like his partner.

But it's nice. She's taught him how to do things before, and now he's teaching her, and once she learns she won't feel quite so overwhelmed. Maybe.

She's safe with him, though, and it's nice to let someone else do the driving.

She runs her fingers through his hair, savoring the feel of his bare, warm, smooth skin against hers, the almost shocking brush of coarse hair against her inner thigh, his tongue in her mouth. What he was doing before felt good, but this feels altogether different. In his bed at Omega Chi, sometimes she let him touch her and fondle her, and sometimes she touched him in return. She wants more.

She moves with him as he shifts his weight, so he can rub against the join of her thighs with his lube-slicked thumb while he kisses her. She shudders, drawing her nails down the back of his neck and swirling them over his shoulder blades, as their lips part and join again, as she shifts the angle of her hips. He seems so _assured_ when they're like this, so in control, and she feels like the opposite. She feels slow and drowsy, almost drunk, overwhelmed with sensation and craving.

And then he moves, his fingers sliding from where he was fondling her clit to the hollow of her sex, where she's already sensitive and wet, gently probing against her, making her more ready for him. She nuzzles against his jaw, gasping, arching to encourage the contact when his chest brushes against her nipples. The third night of their honeymoon, he left a trail of kisses all over her, licked and nipped at and stroked her, and at the end of it she was boneless and quivering, gasping for breath, completely unable to do anything more than cling to him.

She thinks he loves it. She thinks he loves seeing her that way. When they were first going to bed together, those few times, he seemed desperate for her; now that she understands what this is and what it means and how it makes her feel, she's the one who's desperate. It's only fair.

But that it gives her so much pleasure to feel him inside her, that he loves being a part of her that way—she suppose it makes sense, that they complement each other so well, like this. Her eyes roll back when he rubs firmly against her clit again, and a thrill goes down her spine before she murmurs it.

"Please, please, inside me..."

"Mmm." He breaks the kiss, gently parting her, and she pants a little in anticipation. "I love you."

"I love you," she whimpers, and then she gasps at the penetration of his fingers, the gentle probing. She tips her chin down a little to look into his face, into his sweet dark eyes, glinting in the moonlight.

"My wife." He says it almost reverently, almost hushed.

"My husband," she replies softly, feeling that same thrill down her spine again at the words. Maybe it's only been official for less than two weeks, but this feels so right. Being with him, knowing he will be there when she comes home, that her best friend will be there to share the rest of her life, makes her wonder how she was able to live without it. She's been ready for this for six months, ever since she first tried on a wedding dress and this felt _real_.

He's gazing into her eyes when he moves inside her, and her lips part, a flush rising up her chest, up her neck. "Oh my God," she whispers, and she has to make herself relax and just feel the press of him inside her, for that first thrust. He slowly slides forward, so deep inside her, until his hips are against hers and his forehead is touching hers, and he's _hers_. Maybe he's in control, maybe she's just quiet and overwhelmed, but when he looks into her eyes, she knows that there's no one else for either of them.

"How does it feel?" she whispers, relaxing and then tightening her inner muscles around him.

He lets out a long breath. "Incredible," he whispers, and nuzzles against her cheek. "Just so incredible. Is it good for you?"

"Mmm-hmm." She giggles when he kisses her earlobe and nips gently at her. "A lot better than the first time."

"And the second, and the third." He kisses her other earlobe, then gently begins to move out of her. "You've gotten so good at this, Mrs. Nickerson."

She runs her fingers through his hair, gazing up at him. "I've had a good teacher," she teases him. "And I've been working _very_ hard."

"Yes, you have. And I'd say I'm proud of you, but it's definitely more than that." He slides into her and she pushes up a little, rising to meet him. "This has, without a doubt, been the best two weeks of my entire life."

"Mine too." Her breath catches as he presses his full length into her again. "See how nice it is, when we can see each other?"

He laughs. "And do this," he murmurs, leaning down to kiss her again.

And then there's no more talking, just _him_ , hearing his breath catch when he moves inside her, the slide of his hips against her inner thighs, the softness of his lips and the brush of his stubble. His hair is silky between her fingers, and she writhes under him when he strokes her clit. That sensation, and feeling joined to him, becoming a part of him, make her shudder. It rises and she moves with him, nuzzling against him and kissing him when she can, until she's flushed and so warm and lost in him. She chants "Oh my God, oh my _God_ " over and over, until her gasped cries sound edged in pain, but it's just so damn _intense_. He keeps moving inside her and she'll die if he doesn't—

And then she begins to cry out louder, and he arches over her, kissing her so her scream is muffled by his mouth. She's stiff, her spine and shoulders arched, and when she summons the strength to draw her nails down his back he shudders and then relaxes, breaking the kiss so they can both gasp for breath as he bows his head, his hips moving more slowly. She whimpers when he rubs his thumb against her clit one more time, then moves his hand from between them and collapses fully onto her.

And she realizes it, as her strength slowly returns and she finally is able to move again, her legs twined around his and his lips brushing against her neck. There will be lazy Saturdays and nights falling asleep together on the couch and road trips, and _this_. Sex that leaves her sated and exhausted, and aching with love for him.

He feathers kisses against her jaw and then she turns to kiss him too, slow and sweet, soothing the drag of her nails against his back with the stroking of her palm. He kisses her again before he pulls out of her, and she winces at how oversensitive she is when she's coming down from her orgasm. She wants to cuddle against him, but she has to wait until he's cleaned them both up.

Then he holds her and she is immediately relaxed, boneless and cuddled against him. He rests his palm against the small of her back and she murmurs softly, her lashes fluttered down.

Another week of this, and she'll be thoroughly addicted. Her best friend sharing their bed and their life, and _this_.

"I'm the luckiest guy in the world," Ned murmurs. "Oh my God, Nan. Double coffee in the morning, but it was worth it."

She chuckles. "Yeah," she murmurs, and drifts to sleep in his arms.


End file.
